Archive of Our Own ^beta

For some reason, Laura can never get time alone to wax her moustache.

She takes after her mom, and Talia Hale was a very hairy woman—werewolf genealogy aside—who probably spent even more time on hair removal than Laura does now, considering Talia also wore dresses and skirts. Derek and Cora know this, they know that Laura needs grooming time, and yet somehow, every time she sits down and gets out her wax strips, one of them comes bursting into her room with something dramatic to complain about.

This time it's Cora, and the issue is dating.

Or, more specifically, it's Cora the adolescent werewolf wanting to date Lydia Martin, the adult banshee they know nothing about either species- or personality-wise.

Needless to say, Laura has denied her request.

And Cora is not happy about it. "Oh my god, Laura! What the hell is your problem, anyway?" she's spitting out, pacing the length of Laura's room. "Just because you don't want to date anyone, you don't want any of us to be happy?"

"Not at all," says Laura. She rips open the waxing box. "Derek is more than welcome to be happy, I'm only targeting you."

Cora grits her teeth. "Well what about mom? Don't you think mom would have wanted me— us, wanted us to be happy?"

Laura sighs. "Oh man, little sis. I thought you knew better by now. If you wanna play the dead parent card, you need to play it with someone whose parents aren't also dead. And who didn't share the same parents as you. And who didn't become your substitute parent because you were a minor when said parents died."

"But—"

"And let's not forget the fact that you are still, in fact, a minor now. Which gives me, as substitute parent, with all accompanying substitute-parent rights, the ability to totally shut you down and tell you you're not allowed to go to out with Lydia Martin."

"But Lydia—"

"Especially since you and Lydia seem to have some kind of weird flirty intimidation-fueled slow burn courtship going on. I don't know what's going on there, but I know I don't really want you part of it when you're only a sophomore."

"She's only a senior! It's not like she's in college!"

"She will be in a few months. Also, she's eighteen, you're sixteen—"

"I'm turning seventeen soon," Cora insists.

Laura nods. "Which means that for another twelve-plus months, you're still a minor and my point still stands."

"Are you fucking serious?" Cora shrieks. Laura ignores her. Things are silent for a moment, and Laura just waits. Cora always saves her best ammunition for last. "Well," her little sister says slowly, deliberately, "maybe when mom made you our guardian in her will she didn't know you'd become so speciesist!"

Laura rolls her eyes. That was disappointing, actually. "Oh well now you've convinced me I'm an evil bigot, I've changed my mind, I'll even pay for the wedding."

More silence, and then Cora visibly changes tactics. She draws herself up to her full height, looks down her nose at Laura and asks haughtily, "Is this about Derek? You know that just because he almost gave everything up for a pretty face it doesn't mean I will, right?"

"Cora!" Laura says sharply, letting her eyes flash red. Obviously that was what Cora was saving. As cold as it is, it's admittedly much more impressive, and Laura can only be glad Derek didn't hear it. "What happened with Derek was not his fault, and don't you fucking dare imply otherwise!"

Cora flinches, shrinking in on herself and guiltily flicking her eyes in the direction of his room, as if only just remembering their brother is home.

"It's fine, he's still listening to his weird 70s playlist and pretending to do his homework," Laura says, and Cora crosses her arms and refuses to meet her gaze. "Cora, I'm not just being strict for no reason. We're already vulnerable in so many ways. It's not just hunters that are dangerous."

"Lydia knows who we are," she says stubbornly. "She comes from a family of banshees."

"Yeah, and banshees are directly associated with death, I wonder why I don't want my little sister dating one."

Cora growls and clenches her fists, and Laura is fondly reminded of all the times she pulled the same moves when she was a kid. She never got her way then either, but Cora is stubborn and takes forever to learn a lesson. Laura knew that even before she had to start literally mothering her.

On the other hand, Cora's been all about Lydia for months now, and along with 'stubborn' comes 'doesn't give up easy'. If Laura gives her nothing she might do something stupid—which means that there's probably some middle ground that Laura is supposed to be straddling here, a give and take necessary in the rearing of teenagers that you could get away with ignoring in younger kids.

Her mom would know exactly what the middle ground was. There isn't a minute of the day that Laura doesn't miss her, but sometimes the feeling is so strong it's like a wolfsbane bullet to the heart.

Bargaining is a thing though, right? Negotiating? Not to be done with terrorists but totally fine for teenagers?

There's a squeaking from down the hall, Derek shifting around in his creaky chair that she's told him like five times to replace because it keeps her awake when he studies at night, and Laura tunes into him briefly for a status report. He's still at his desk, but there's too many mouse clicks and not enough keyboard taps for him to be writing a paper. He's probably playing solitaire, because her super cool little bro loves computer card games.

He's still listening to the music too. At this very moment the lyrics blaring through his headphones are pronouncing you gotta be cruel to be kind, and suddenly, she's hit with an idea that's just too perfect. It's like the stars have finally aligned, and Laura doesn't think she has ever had, or will ever have, another parenting moment this pure in her whole life.

"Okay fine," she says, cutting Cora off just as she's opening her mouth to complain some more. "You can date."

Cora's mouth drops open. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, sure, why not, you can totally date." She pauses, letting the moment build, letting the hope build in Cora's eyes, before qualifying, "When Derek does."

The look on Cora's face makes every parenting crisis Laura's ever had (of which there have been many over the past three years) worth it.

-

When Laura pokes her head into Derek's room to say goodnight, he's lying on his bed, engrossed in some massive ancient history book which probably isn't even in English. He's taking notes as he goes, handling the book so carefully she'd almost think it was trip-wired.

Laura really has to give it to him, he's done a pretty good job of cultivating his high school persona. Everyone but his teachers think he's some kind of buff, mindless jock, and it works entirely in his favour—he gets kudos for being cool and he got five college offers. Laura just hopes that when he actually gets to college (in three months, god, she's gonna miss him) he'll feel more like he can be himself.

"You're getting creepy now," he says, finally looking up and raising his substantial brows—aka his gift from their mom—at her.

"I was always creepy," she says dismissively. "I just wanted to warn you that I told Cora she was allowed to date."

Derek frowns, his warm-content scent clouding with confusion-disbelief. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, Cora is totally allowed to date—when you do."

"You know I don't want…" He trails off and sighs. "Of course you know. That's why you said it. Shit, Cora's gonna be even more intolerable now, thanks for that."

Laura smiles brightly. She should maybe feel bad about using Derek's terrible dating history in her favour, but he doesn't really seem to mind so she doesn't let it bother her. "I can't help my genius, Derek. It makes your life interesting. It's why you keep me around."

"I wasn't aware I had a choice in the matter," he says dryly.

"Derek," she says, and tsks. "There's always a choice. And I'll always be here to make it for you."

-

Being the alpha sucks, most of the time.

It's responsibility, so much responsibility and not just for her pack, for her brother and sister who so desperately need the guidance and love of real parents and are instead stuck with her, but for the whole Hale territory, which extends across most of Beacon County, and everyone in it.

It's… a lot.

Thankfully, she has help. Laura has made sure of it, because back when her whole pack was killed, when she was left alone with a fifteen and a thirteen year old to look after, when she was only in her freshman year of college herself, grieving and petrified, suddenly so powerful and so alone, she'd known she wouldn't be able to do it by herself.

The Sheriff was the second person Laura went to for guidance. She'd started with Deaton, because he was her mom's emissary, even though Laura had never trusted him or found him to be much help. He always seemed to enjoy being as ambiguous as possible, even in times of dire need, which was evidenced when the sum total of his "help" consisted of him mumbling something vague about "the balance" right before he packed his bags and left town. He'd refused to even tell her where the Hale vault was—something that Talia had planned to tell Laura when she was twenty one, and something that Laura would have really loved to have as a resource when she suddenly found herself dropping out of college and flailing her way through parenthood.

The Sheriff, though. The Sheriff has been constant, and has been in the know for years now, and has been of unimaginable help. Particularly when Uncle Peter turned out not to be dead, came back to Beacon Hills as an alpha, revealed that Kate Argent was behind killing the Hales, bit Scott McCall, tried to manipulate Laura into giving him the Hale territory and then tried to kill her.

Even the Argents helped out then—not all of them, but as Allison came to lead her family she chose to attempt to atone for Kate's actions, and Chris chose to stay with her. Together, Allison and Laura finally drew up a treaty between hunters and werewolves, the first to exist in Beacon County for centuries, and very so slowly their pseudo-pack has grown. Now they all protect each other and work together, and even spend time together voluntarily.

On every full moon, there's a gathering at the Hale house in the preserve to purify the Nemeton, which is the one and only useful thing Laura remembers her mom talking about. It has the potential to be used for evil, she said, and for it to remain a guardian and protector and not become a beacon for danger, it must be cleansed by the light of the moon. All allies and affiliates are welcome, and everyone almost always shows up.

The Stilinskis are the first to arrive this month, Stiles carrying a box of food so big he can barely fit through the front door.

"I bring gifts!" he crows, staggering into the kitchen. Pausing for a moment, he gathers his strength and then hefts the box onto the counter and opens the flaps with a flourish.

The box is filled with baked goods, pastries and cakes that are are little squashed but that still look and smell fantastic.

"Did you actually make all this?" she asks dubiously.

Stiles snorts. "Are you kidding me, I don't bake. My friend Heather's mom runs the bakery on High Street, they hosted this, like, mini fair fundraiser thing for the homeless shelter today. These are the extraneous edibles." He grabs a cold funnel cake before Laura can stop him and bites into it, which is disgusting, but he just grins at her.

"How wonderful it is to have friends in high places," Laura mutters, shooing him back around to the other side of the breakfast bar.

"Where's my dad?" he asks, ignoring her, chewing obnoxiously even though the funnel cake probably has the consistency and cardboard flavour of cold fries by now, ugh.

"Outside sorting out the barbecue, you know, affirming his manhood by grilling meat."

"What is with that, anyway? Guys are so weird," Cora says, entering the room and peering outside. The Sheriff is staring the barbecue, hands hovering over the knobs. He keeps making movements to touch them, but pulling back at the last minute. "Should I go and help him?"

"You better, he won't ask for it," Stiles advises, voice muffled. Laura turns to find him practically in the fridge and drags him out by his collar. "Ow— oh my god, okay okay!"

She drags him into the living room and deposits him in front of the stairs. "Stop hovering. If you wanna be useful, go and make Derek bring his ass down here."

"Oh, right, Derek, yeah." His heart rate spikes and his scent sours. He shifts nervously, clasping his hands together and rubbing, squeezing them together like some sort of anxious Bond villain.

"What is wrong with you?" she asks suspiciously, and he opens his mouth to answer—and lie, most likely—but then the doorbell rings and she doesn't have time to worry about it. "Whatever, just—"

"Derek's ass, got it," he says quickly, face reddening. He disappears up the stairs and Laura goes to let the next group of people inside.

-

Scott and Melissa are the last people to arrive, and by the time Laura finishes moving all the food to the picnic tables outside there's still no sign of Derek downstairs. She's about to send out a search party when he finally appears, looking uncomfortable and even grumpier than usual as he slips over to Isaac, Erica and Boyd in the corner of their spacious backyard, far enough away that she can't pick up anything from him. Stiles emerges a few moments later, reeking of disappointment, and Laura suddenly wishes she'd thought to listen in on their conversation.

But then Parrish is asking her about ketchup, and she gets caught up in barbecue administration again. She keeps an eye on Derek though, especially as twilight nears and she can feel the pull of the moon getting stronger, but he seems to relax instead of getting more stressed so she takes that as a good sign.

As they pass out the pastries Stiles bought for dessert Derek ends up standing next to her.

"Everything okay," she asks quietly, not that there's much need—Cora's the only one who could possibly hear them and she's too busy trying to sneakily talk to Lydia.

"Fine," Derek says absently. He looks like he's deciding between a cupcake and a piece of pie when suddenly his sniffs and wrenches his hand back. "Who brought these?"

"Stiles," Laura says.

He puts his plate down. "I've changed my mind, I'm not hungry."

Laura shrugs and grabs both the cupcake and the piece of pie, dropping them onto her plate. "Mine, then."

Derek gives her a dirty look but says nothing, as is his speciality. "Cora's ogling Lydia again," he says loudly, instead, and Cora jumps guiltily, swivelling around to pretend she was talking to Chris and Allison all along.

Because they have so much in common.

-

At midnight, everyone treks out to the Nemeton. It always allows itself to be easily found on full moons, and most of the time they don't need to spend more than five minutes walking through the Preserve before Laura sees it.

Derek sticks close to her this time, practically stepping on the heels of her sneakers, and she'd be annoyed but the moon's influence on her is so strong at this point she almost feels like she's high, and she doesn't have the mental capacity to indulge anyone else's problems.

The group stops once they reach the stump, and the air feels like it's buzzing. She steps up to it, kneeling down to place her palm against the bark. It feels warm under her fingertips, raw power imbuing the wood with what almost feels like sentience.

Laura remembers the first time she did this. She'd been an alpha for two days, and it had been so much different. The moon had been bloody, and she'd been alone and repeating the words from an addled memory, terrified that she'd get something wrong. Now, after having done this every month for three years, and having everyone with her, it's a much less intimidating process. Not that she fully trusts the tree. That's one of the lessons from her mom she remembers the clearest—never fully trust the Nemeton.

Stepping back, Laura turns to Chris, who she suspects only participates in the next part of the ritual because he likes to see her bleed. He hands her a knife, one with a blade that's been soaked in wolfsbane to keep her bleeding a little longer. She slices across her palm.

"I offer this," she declares, repeating the same phrase as always, because the wording is the most important thing in any great pledge, "the promise of the alpha and her pack. We will work to protect the land and its people as long as we reside here. This is the truth of an alpha." She reaches down, pressing her bloody palm directly to the Nemeton. Immediately, something eases within her, a familiar sense of calm washing over her, and she stands and faces the group, shaking out her hands. Derek is the one to provide her with a towel, and she nods gratefully and wraps it around her hand.

"Does anyone else feel the desire to share what they're feeling?" she asks. She doesn't remember this from the time her mom was alpha, it's something she's added on herself, but with so many different factions to her 'pack' it's always felt right to ask.

Everyone looks around at each other but there seem to be no volunteers. It's to be expected, there never are, and Laura is about to move to the final part of the ritual—the run, which is only for the actual werewolves—until she sees movement out of the corner of her eye.

Stiles' hand slowly raises, and he steps forward, closer to the tree. "Yeah, so uh, me? I'd like to, you know…" He gestures to the Nemeton. "Something."

"Dude!" Scott hisses, shaking his head frantically, but Stiles ignores him.

"I've, uh, been working on his thing? And it's pretty stupid but I feel like it probably does a better job of like… explaining how I feel about D—" His eyes widen before darting over to Derek, and he clears his throat. "About… our dedication to protecting the tree. The Nemeton. Stumpy," he chatters nervously, gesturing to the tree.

The Sheriff groans and slaps his hand over his eyes but Stiles just seems to take that as encouragement. He nods to Lydia, who has her phone out, and she taps on the screen until a song bursts from its tinny speakers, something upbeat Laura doesn't recognise. And then…

And then, Stiles starts into what Laura is pretty sure is a tap dance routine.

He actually gets up, onto the stump of the Nemeton itself, and he's really terrible so she can't be sure exactly what it is but. It seems like that could be what it is?

It calls forth several different reactions from his audience. The Sheriff and Scott seem most affected by it, groaning and walking away, but everyone else seems intrigued enough to keep watching. Even Derek is—

Okay.

Derek is… smiling.

That's… huh.

Okay.

-

So, it turns out that Laura's genius parenting move may have slightly worked against her.

It's a shock, and it's probably something she should have seen coming, but she was expecting Derek to be predictable. Derek's predictability is always predictable, but this time it wasn't, and it is probably the biggest outlier in the history of statistics (or whatever, her math retention is negative five percent, she can barely even remember her times tables at this point) and therefore it really shouldn't be held against her.

It happens like this:

Her last lecture on Fridays finishes at eight pm, and she hates her past self for ever signing up for something that would postpone her weekend for so long. Not to mention it's taught by the most boring prof ever, featuring the most boring topic ever—poetry, ugh, why did she ever think taking a poetry module was a good idea, poetry is trash and she hates it the most. The only good thing about Fridays is that she's too tired to cook which means it's much easier for her to justify getting take out.

She doesn't bother with Derek because he's usually at the gym at this time, and has his own meal plans and only eats chicken breast and potato or whatever, so she calls ahead from school and orders her and Cora's favourites. She's just pulling into a spot in front of the gross creepy strip mall where the best kumiho-run Korean restaurant is (run by a cute family of kumiho who are hopefully still keeping to the treaty her mom established with them and not eating any men's livers) when she notices the Camaro parked a few spaces up. She frowns.

Derek's gym is on the other side of town—although pretty much everything is on the other side of town, the only reason Laura even braves this part of Beacon Hills is her alpha werewolf status—so she has no idea what the hell he's doing here. Maybe someone stole the Camaro?

Unable to resist, she hops out of her dad's old Toyota and makes her way over to their mom's old car, keeping a nose and ear out for anything nefarious, but she can't pick up anything other than the usual Derek-smells (namely sweat and sexual frustration) and… Wait, is that… She sniffs harder, plasters herself to the passenger side of the Camaro, and peers inside.

What she sees is a red hoodie. A red hoodie, and a battered back pack, and an exercise book poking out of the top of said back pack that has 'Stiles Stilinski' scrawled across the top. And yeah, the things she's seeing with her eyes match up with the things she's smelling with her nose (namely sugar and horniness five times the power of Derek's, damn) and everything all adds up to the fact that Derek had Stiles in his car, Derek is spending time with Stiles now after having lied about it, and Derek is on a date, shit.

Cora must never know.

-

At this point, Laura could do the right thing and just… leave. Derek is an adult, Stiles is an adult, whatever they want to do together is none of anyone's business.

But the truth is, Laura really misses doing the wrong thing. Being an alpha is so right thing-heavy that she's bored with it all and craving adventure and that is how she ends up sneaking into her favourite Korean restaurant, ducking around a corner, peering around it, exchanging a nod with a bemused Mrs Choi and spying on her brother's date.

This part of being an alpha—the part where she can conceal her scent and make herself virtually undetectable, a paragon of stealth—this part, she loves. She's just grateful they didn't decide to order kbbq, because even with her advanced hearing it would have been difficult to eavesdrop with all that food cooking at the table.

Laura takes a moment to observe her brother before listening in. Surprisingly enough, he looks relaxed and engaged, leaning forward in his seat, metal chopsticks held expertly in one hand, the other cupped loosely around his water glass. Stiles doesn't look anywhere near as composed, chopsticks dangling precariously from his fingers, a stain already on his shirt. He does, however, seem to be just as into the conversation as Derek, and he's speaking quickly, eyes bright.

"…to be honest," he's saying, "I thought you would be broodier."

Derek looks unimpressed. "Was it the big bad wolf thing or the Danny Zuko thing?"

Stiles snorts. "Neither, actually. It was Scott. He's always bitching about you, so I guess I just assumed you really were an unrelentingly sour… person," he says quickly, although it really did sound like he was going to use a much harsher word.

Derek obviously chooses to ignore it. "Scott overreacts."

"You made him think you bit him, said you were wolf brothers, and then stalked and periodically attacked him," Stiles points out.

Laura cringes. That was another failed attempt at parenting on her part—Derek had asked how to get Scott to like him, and she'd advised him to just treat Scott like he was an omega in danger that needed training. It was too bad Derek had taken it to the extreme and Scott had freaked the fuck out.

It had been hard for any of them to even try to put themselves into Scott's shoes, back then. Growing up to believe that the bite is a gift and then being forced to accept someone who believes the complete opposite, to an almost insulting degree, was pretty confronting.

Derek pulls a face. "Fine then. How about, Scott needs to learn about shades of grey."

Stiles points his spoon at him. "That, I can agree to." He winks at Derek, before settling back down his meal, scooping a pile of meat—it smells like… teriyaki?—into his mouth and letting out a happy sigh.

The conversation moves on then, to something about cafeteria food, but Laura figures she's stayed long enough anyway. She slips out of the restaurant again, barely remembering to slide Mrs Choi a tip, and blinks when she remembers she was supposed to buy dinner. She turns back to the restaurant, but one peek at Derek's smirking face through the front window has her moving back to her car, intent on picking up McDonalds on her way home.

She needs time to process, and he deserves time to be happy.

-

Laura gets the call when she's at the gym.

She's on her last mile on the treadmill, almost at the finish line, and she thinks about not accepting, but the caller ID on her watch reads SHERIFF DEPT, and she's learned to always pick up calls from cops. She reluctantly powers down her machine, taking it to a slow walk before sliding off and clicking the button on her headphones to answer.

"Laura Hale," she puffs, reaching for her water bottle and taking a huge gulp.

"Hey Laura," the Sheriff says, "Am I interrupting anything?"

"Nothing that can't wait. What's up?"

He pauses. Laura narrows her eyes, and the old man walking past her gives her a dirty look, so she ducks out into the hall that doubles as the stretching area, where there's less people.

"Can you come in?" he asks eventually, cautious.

Immediately, she knows something must be wrong, and she can feel the rising panic, remembering the last time the Sheriff called her into the station. "What's happened? Sheriff, what is it, is my family, fuck, what—"

"Laura," the Sheriff says sharply, cutting through her anxiety, "Derek and Cora are both fine. No one is hurt. Feel for them, check your pack bonds. I'm not lying."

Immediately, Laura closes her eyes and reaches out with her senses, pushing past herself in an attempt to feel her siblings. Even as a born werewolf she doesn't really understand how it all works, but she doesn't really need to. All that matters to her is the rush of relief she experiences when both Derek and Cora register in her brain as alive and well.

"Shit, okay. Sorry," she mumbles, slumping back against the wall. "I just—"

"I get it," the Sheriff says. "Believe me."

Laura nods, straightening again and collecting her towel and water bottle. She heads for the lockers. "So, what did Cora do then?" she asks curiously. "If she's punched that Jackson kid in the face again I can't really discipline her for it, not when it's something I would have done."

"Well, I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that, but it's actually not Cora that's the problem here."

Laura frowns. "Then what… wait, Derek did something? Derek got arrested?"

The Sheriff snorts. "Well, that really depends on whether the Whittemores wanna press charges."

"Charges?" she screeches.

"I think you'd better just come down, kiddo," he says, sounding amused now. "And then we'll go from there."

-

When Laura arrives at the Sheriff's station, Parrish sees her first.

"Hey," he says warmly, leaning on the front counter. "Here to bail out your little bro?"

Laura glares at him. "My little bro is innocent of all charges!"

He grins. "No can do, I'm afraid. We've got witness statements from at least ten people, and it was all caught on surveillance camera. Sorry."

"Yeah, giving my brother a criminal record just before he's about to college is really hilarious," she snaps, and he immediately sobers and straightens up. She sighs. "Sorry, I just— what did he do?"

"Oh, you don't know yet? Sorry, he—" But then the phone rings, and he seems torn between her and the phone for a second before pointing at it and shrugging. "I gotta take this."

Laura waves him off, stomping over the waiting area, dropping down into a seat and rubbing her temples.

Why would anyone have kids? Why would they voluntarily do this? It's something she'll never understand, especially on the days she feels extra internet-stalkery and goes back through the Facebooks of her graduating class and is reminded that she's one of the only ones left who hasn't procreated.

She sighs.

"Tough day?" someone asks.

She startles, eyes snapping open to find Lydia Martin sitting next to her. On her lap is a tiny fluffy dog. It's wearing wings. They're pink and glittery, but the dog doesn't seem to mind, and it isn't bothered by Laura at all.

Laura blinks at her. "Uh…"

"Brevity runs in the Hale family, I see," Lydia says, raising one immaculate eyebrow.

Laura rolls her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"I have a business matter to attend to." She crosses her legs and lowers the dog to the floor, patting it on the head. "Would you like to know what it is? You are the alpha, after all."

Laura regards her seriously. Lydia has always been a wildcard to her—first human, then resistant to the bite, then psychic, then something, and finally a banshee. Laura doesn't know much about banshees, and even though Stiles has done his research it's impossible to discern fact from fiction. More than once, Laura has yearned for access to her mom's bestiary.

Whatever the case, she definitely doesn't smell entirely human. Her scent reads as kind of fae but also not, overpowered by something so sweet it almost smells rotten, like death. It's unsettling, and Laura hates that she finds her so intimidating, but she can't help it.

"I'm not your alpha," she says lightly. "You don't have to tell me anything."

Lydia smiles. It feels smug. "Oh, I know." She sounds just as carefree as Laura had, which is how Laura knows it's fake.

"That's so reassuring," Laura mutters.

Lydia narrows her eyes, but they're interrupted before either of them can take it further—or, as would probably be the case, too far.

"Laura," the Sheriff calls, and she looks up to see him behind the counter, gesturing her over.

"I gotta—"

Lydia nods. "Of course. This will all be straightened out soon enough, I'm sure."

"Well if you're sure," Laura says, unable to rein in allher frustration. She gets up and makes her way over to the Sheriff, and when she glances back at Lydia, Lydia is studying her nails with as much interest as she had displayed when conversing with Laura.

"You okay?" the Sheriff asks, holding open the door for her.

She turns her full attention to him. "That depends, is Derek?"

The Sheriff smiles wryly, inclining his head towards his office. "Why don't you come see for yourself."

-

"You rammed his car?" Laura screeches, and she can feel her eyes shifting, red dancing in and out of her irises as she tamps down on the urge to let her claws loose and rip Derek's throat out. She clenches her fist and punches him on the shoulder instead. "You rammed Jackson Whittemore's car?"

Derek scowls and sinks down in his chair, probably thinking that the smaller he makes himself, the less of a target for her rage he'll be. He's very, very wrong.

The Sheriff clears his throat. "Did I mention Jackson drives a Porsche?"

Laura punches him again, hard. "You rammed Jackson Whittemore's Porsche? Derek! Do you want to still be able to afford college, or have you committed yourself to a life of crime now?"

Derek cringes, but then he steels himself, taking another three punches from her before the Sheriff has to drag her away and dump her in his own seat, so the desk separates her from her brother.

The part of Laura that is still rational, the very small part tucked up in the back of her brain, feels like that's a very wise idea.

"Enough," the Sheriff tells her sharply, and she makes do with sitting back in his chair, crossing her arms and glaring at her delinquent brother. He turns to Derek. "What happened, son? I'm sure you had a reason for doing what you did. Tell us what it is, and maybe it will help."

Derek is silent for a few moments, sullenly drawing patterns on the thigh of his jeans with a fingernail.

Laura is verging on using her alpha power to compel him to tell them when he sighs, sits up straight and looks the Sheriff square in the eye.

"At school today I heard Jackson Whittemore boasting about being the one to post that footage of Erica Reyes' seizure on Facebook. Then I was at Jamba Juice and he was boasting about how he's going to…" He grits his teeth, visibly calming himself down before continuing. "He was talking about how he was going to take advantage of Cora." He glances at Laura. Laura thinks he's right to look as concerned as he does, because she is ready to go and finish what he started, except this time it won't be Jackson's car, it'll be his head. "Also," Derek adds quickly, obviously picking up on her rising fury, "he was double parked. Which is illegal. I was simply helping to enforce the law." He shrugs, but Laura can see right through it and she's pretty sure the Sheriff can too.

"Not all heroes wear capes," the Sheriff says dryly, but then he leans in closer. "Derek, do you have proof of any of these accusations? If you don't I'm not sure what I can do. Was anyone with you when you overheard any of this?"

Interestingly enough, Derek's scent goes sour-embarrassed, and his mouth clamps shut. He seems determined not to say anything, like he's protecting someone, which can really only mean—

"Derek, if Stiles was with you you can just say it," Laura says. "I know you're dating."

Derek's head rears up, his heartbeat kicking into overdrive. "What? How did you—"

"I know everything," she says, figuring it's a better answer than 'I stalked you'.

"I don't, apparently." The Sheriff leans back, studying Derek with new interest. "Stiles, huh?"

"We're not dating," Derek says quickly, eyes darting from Laura to the Sheriff and back again. "He's my… we're friends, it's just… hanging out…" he trails off miserably.

"Aw hell," the Sheriff says. He rubs at his forehead. "I'm honestly stuck between a rock and a hard place here, son. I can't let you off, and even if you could prove what Jackson did it won't really matter. You still broke the law."

"I understand, sir," Derek says stiffly. "I'm not asking for special treatment."

"Right," the Sheriff says, eyeing him. He turns to Laura.

Laura shrugs, because it's not like she knows what the hell to do here, either. She'll probably have to discipline him too, as parent and alpha, and she barely knows how she'll handle that—although if he gets charged that'll probably be more than punishment enough.

Shit, why did she have to be blessed with such an impulsive, reckless, good-hearted little bro?

She sighs. "So, okay, what now? We get a lawyer?"

"That will be unnecessary," comes a voice from the doorway, and all three of them look over to see Lydia in the doorway.

Lydia steps into the room, her dog trailing after her, cautious in a room with two werewolves. "Jordan?" she calls down the hallway. Parrish suddenly appears, scooping up Lydia's dog and winking at Laura as he leaves, closing the door behind him.

"Ms Martin," the Sheriff says, "what can I do for you?"

"Oh, that's the wrong question, Sheriff Stilinski," Lydia says, smiling predatorily. "I believe the right question is, how can I help you?"

-

The drive home from the station is quiet.

"You were lucky," Laura says quietly, as they pull up at the last red light before the turn off for home. There are hardly any other cars around—the Hale house is the furthest residential dwelling from the centre of town, and the closest to the Preserve, which means very people live close by. None of them would have it any other way.

"I know," Derek mutters.

"If Lydia and Jackson didn't used to—"

"Yeah, I know."

"And if Lydia and Cora weren't—"

"Laura, I know, okay?" he snaps. "You don't have to do this."

"It's cute that you think that," she tells him. The light turns green and she accelerates, driving slowly. "What happened? Did your anchor slip?"

Derek shakes his head. "My anchor is fine."

"Then what? You can tell me, Derek."

He sighs, finally giving in. "It wasn't the wolf side," he admits. "I didn't shift, I didn't even feel like I close. I was totally calm. Everything I did was calm and measured and I was in control the whole time."

"So, cool," Laura responds. "Not a case of faulty anchor, just a little ol' touch of sociopathy. Good to know."

Derek shrugs. "You asked."

"That I did." She thinks for a moment. "How much damage did you do to his Porsche, exactly?"

Self-satisfaction leaks from the passenger seat. "Enough to make all the damage to the Camaro worth it."

Laura grins. "Good."

-

It takes less than a day for Cora to find out.

"What the hell?" she shrieks from upstairs, and before Laura knows it, Cora has vaulted down the stairs and is bursting into the kitchen in only her underwear, pointing an accusing finger at Derek, who's eating an unappetising-looking meal at their tiny dining table. "You are so freaking busted!"

"Can we stop dramatically jumping up and down the stairs please, you'll end up breaking the banister," Laura says. "Also, clothes?" Between her and Derek, who likes parade around in his boxers, Laura lives in a permanent state of being entirely uncomfortable with the amount of skin on display.

Cora ignores her. "It's all over Facebook, I can't believe you totalled Jackson's Porsche over Stiles-Fucking-Stilinski!

"It wasn't totalled, and I certainly didn't do anything in Stiles' name," Derek says calmly. "I did it because it was the right thing to do."

"Bullshit!" Cora yells.

Laura lets her have it, because it is. She opens her mouth to add to the conversation, but then Cora turns on her, scornful, eyes flickering yellow.

"Was he even punished?"

Laura shrugs. Even when she was younger she figured out early that the best way to deal with a Cora-meltdown is to remain calm, especially since she hates it so much. "He's not allowed to come with us to the movies tomorrow night."

Cora stares at her. "And that's it? I don't even wanna go to the movies tomorrow night! Is he seriously not getting punished? He's not even sorry, he's just sitting there, stuffing his face with freaking zucchini!"

"It's eggplant," he corrects her, through a full mouth of eggplant.

Apparently the distinction is important.

"Whatever!" Cora shoots back, before spinning to face Laura. "Okay, so yeah, it's all whatever, I don't care about any of it except for the fact that you said if Derek was dating, then I could be too, and now he is but you never told me about it! How unfair is that?"

"Ah. You remember that."

"Of course I remember! Were you seriously trying to get through this by banking on the idea that I'd forget about your own, very important, very meaningful promise?"

Laura decides the truth is probably the best option for now. "Pretty much."

Cora stares at her. "You're a terrible guardian," she says.

It’s not said in jest. There’s no hint of sarcasm or playfulness in her tone—just cold, unflinching truth and an overwhelmingly steady heartbeat.

"Cora," Derek starts, but Laura waves him off.

"It’s funny," she says, holding her sister’s gaze. "The more you say that, the more we all start to believe it, and the less it hurts."

She stalks out of the kitchen, grabs her keys, and slams out of the house before either of them can stop her.

Assuming they would even bother.

-

Laura ends up at the cemetery.

It's almost midnight and the moon is but a sliver, meaning that it's basically the set of every horror movie where the girl dies, but Laura is an alpha werewolf. Strolling through graveyards is practically in her job description.

Plus, she actually really loves spending time here. Sometimes she eats her lunch here, and while some people say she's morbid (read: Scott and Derek, which means it's probably the only thing they have in common), she actually finds it really peaceful and relaxing. There's no one around so there's no steady stream of scents and sounds to try and block out—which despite being second nature to her still requires energy and can actually get pretty draining—and it feels like one of the only places she can de-stress.

She ends up at the Hale plot, as usual. The flowers she'd brought last week are dead, so she clears them away and tosses them aside, settling down and crossing her legs.

She never talks to the headstones, because that feels too cliche. Her parents' bodies aren't even in the coffins, anyway. They were cremated, as stipulated in their wills, their ashes stored elsewhere by Peter. Probably in the vault, because Peter knew exactly where it was. He knew everything about it, and he'd tried to use knowledge as leverage, but Laura wouldn't let him. She'd been too angry, too willing to kill him, too satisfied when her claws had pierced his throat.

She hadn't kept his ashes, or given him a pretend funeral. He didn't deserve it.

It's frustrating, not having anything tangible of their former flesh, not having her mom's claws like she should, as is werewolf custom. All she's left with now, the only connection she has to her parents, are two concrete slabs and some photos.

Some days, she just really wishes she could give up. Just let someone else figure things out for once, let someone else take all the control and responsibility.

And then she remembers that there is no one else, and forces herself to keep going. What was that saying Stiles was throwing around a lot when Stiles first got turned? If you're going through hell, just keep going.

It sounds really stupid. But sometimes, stupid platitudes are all you have.

-

Derek disappears from her sight as soon as they arrive at the school, but she's used to that. They always support Cora at her lacrosse games, just like Laura and Cora always go to Derek's basketball games, but they do it in their own ways. Laura’s just glad lacrosse and basketball are in different seasons, and that she can get away with sitting at the back of the crowd and reading on her phone when she gets bored.

This time, at least, she recognises a few people in the bleachers—the Sheriff and Melissa are sitting in the row second from the front, Derek and his friends are about halfway up and there's the faint acrid scent of Argents swirling around, too. She waves to the Sheriff and climbs up to the back of the bleachers, ensuring she passes Derek gives him a loud kiss on the cheek just to piss him off. His friends laugh, Erica the loudest, and Derek whispers murderous insults at Laura.

She grins victoriously.

And then the grin drops right off her face as she reaches the back row to find the only space left free is next to Lydia Martin.

Lydia has to have planned this. There is no way this is coincidence.

Still, doing anything other than sitting with confidence would make her seem weak, so Laura has no choice but to edge past Lydia and plant her ass down, being careful not to let any part of herself touch any part of Lydia.

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Laura lets the buzz of the crowd wash over her, breathes deeply and keeps half her senses focused on Derek, and the other half on Lydia, feeling oddly threatened. She wishes she could see Cora right now, to reassure herself that her whole pack is safe, but she feels perfectly fine through their bonds. At least she's with Scott. No matter how Scott feels about the Hales, he would never let Cora get hurt.

"So, you helped Derek with the Jackson thing," Laura says finally, not taking her eyes off the field. The players aren't even out yet, but she still feels the need to posture with Lydia, she can't help it. "Does that mean that I owe you now?"

"Absolutely not," Lydia says. "I'd have to be an idiot to try and manipulate an alpha werewolf."

Laura remains dubious. "And flattery isn't manipulation?"

"Not unless you let it happen. We both know what's happening here. We both know what I want and we both know what you want. Pretending otherwise is beneath us."

"Okay," she says, turning to face Lydia, crossing her arms and flashing her eyes, a display that barely rattles Lydia, but that she can't help anyway. "Fine. Now is the time to tell me, then. Why do you want her? Why are you so determined to have something with my little sister, even though I, as her alpha and parental figure, have expressed my displeasure with it time and time again? Is it the novelty of a werewolf? Are you taking a walk on the wild side? Or is it because she's off limits, and you want what you can't have?"

"I…" Lydia frowns and brushes her hair back out of her face, looking unsettled for the first time in any of Laura's interactions with her. It figures that Cora's chosen love interest is fearless in the face of a powerful alpha werewolf and falters at the idea of expressing feelings. "Believe it or not," Lydia starts again, sounding more and more confident as she continues, "relationships aren't based solely on cliches for me. Or, maybe they used to be, maybe I've been guilty of being dazzled by the rich charmer, or the exciting bad boy, but I grew up."

"See, that's part of my problem, because Cora hasn't. You think you're not a cliche she's dazzled by?" But Laura doesn't give her enough time to answer, continuing, "Why are you so determined to be with her, anyway? She threw a tantrum in her underwear over Derek and Stiles."

To Laura's surprise, Lydia just smiles and says, looking down at the field, "She's gonna kill you for telling me that."

She follows Lydia's gaze and oh great, apparently the players have come out and Cora heard all of that, and now she really is going to slash Laura's throat while she sleeps and she'll end up being the alpha.

Laura smiles and waves. Cora flips her the bird.

"Charming," Lydia says.

Cora reddens and hastily yanks her finger down, tucking it under her other armpit. She keeps glaring, though. Laura has a feeling that will never end.

"So, here's a question," Lydia says, bringing Laura's attention back to her, "why are you so determined that your siblings dating is a bad thing? Look at Derek and Stiles, when is the last time you saw either of them that happy?" She tilts her chin, and Laura again looks down to see Stiles, bulky padding and uniform on but not letting that get in the way of leaning as far as he can into Derek's space, right up against the barrier between them that separates field from bleachers.

And Derek is… Derek is liking it. He's got one of her favourite faces of his on, the grudging enjoyment face, and it's actually the cutest thing. She has to force back her smile as he leans in too, his face so close to Stiles' they’re almost touching. And then Derek says something, and Stiles laughs, a big laugh, tilting his head back into it and grabbing Derek’s bicep for balance. Derek looks delighted, is watching Stiles with crinkled eyes and—

"Damn it," Laura murmurs, because her brother is happy.

Stiles Stilinski makes Derek happy.

How did this even happen.

"Fine," she says, whipping back to Lydia. "I’ll admit that there’s something there. But Derek and Stiles are different."

Lydia regards her for a moment, then sits back in her seat and asks, very calmly, "Why?"

Laura opens and closes her mouth a few times, desperate to find words, but none come.

"Cora and I have a personal connection," Lydia continues. "I like her and she likes me. Is there any other for reason two people to want to spend time together?"

The thing is, Laura knows she's right.

Maybe she is being overprotective. Maybe Lydia is being genuine. Maybe Cora is suffering because of Laura's feelings of inadequacy. Maybe—

"Bilinski!" Coach bellows, so loud it's like he's screaming in her ear, "if you don't stop flirting with Hale right now I'm calling my grandma to bring her circus bear over and then slathering you in honey myself! Get on the field, or get mauled by an emaciated dancing grizzly, those are your two options!"

"Sorry Coach, but that's not much of a threat," Stiles says, not sounding sorry at all, winking at Derek. "Everything turns me on, to be quite honest, even honey."

The Coach stares at him, before blowing his whistle, grabbing Stiles' collar and yelling, "I hope you're ready to have an intimate relationship with the bench, because you're never playing lacrosse again!"

"Worth it," Stiles mouths to Derek as he's dragged away.

Derek rolls his eyes. And then smiles to himself.

And maybe—

Maybe Laura has been spending far too much time obsessing over her siblings' love lives.

"Okay, we’re done here," she says abruptly, standing up. "Enjoy the game." She strides down the steps, heading for the Sheriff and Melissa.

"Everything okay?" he asks, frowning as she squeezes herself in beside him and some big burly dude.

Burly dude sneers at her. She growls back. Burly dude pales and backs away slowly before scurrying off, and she shamelessly spreads out in his place.

"Laura?" Melissa leans around the Sheriff, also concerned.

"I just wanna watch the game," Laura says sharply. "Sorry, but—"

"It's fine," the Sheriff says, shooting her a wry smile. "It's an important game, right?"

Laura nods.

Apparently it is.

-

Laura isn't sure if Lydia's speech would have worked on her mom and dad, but it turns out it worked stupidly well on her.

She finds herself watching Cora much more closely, looking for signs that Laura has ruined her life, has held her back and screwed up her mental and emotional growth in these, her most important formative years.

The truth is that Cora seems fine. But Laura isn't fine. She feels guilty as hell, which, of course, is what leads to her giving both Derek and Cora permission to go to the last big pre-prom party of the year, the Bonfire of Love. It's Beacon Hills tradition, around even when Laura was in high school, and it's supposed to be an open party that anyone at BHH is invited to. It's basically just an excuse to get wasted, of course, but the idea in its conception was that it was to be truly accepting of anyone that wanted to party, hence the truly awful name. (In all honesty, there had only actually been a bonfire at the party in one of all four years of Laura's high school experience, but since that's not the real point of it anyway no one is too bothered about that aspect of it.)

So, Laura gives in like a sucker, Cora is thrilled, Derek is not, and everything runs as expected—right up until the night of the party. Somehow Cora, following Laura's rules to the letter, comes home completely sober fifteen minutes before curfew, but Derek… Derek is two hours late and completely off his face.

Laura can't even begin to hide her surprise as she opens the front door, her half teasing half serious scolding falling off her lips as she takes in Derek hanging off Stiles' shoulder and Stiles struggling to hold him up.

"Uh, hey Laura," Stiles says nervously, wincing as Derek suddenly pivots in his grip, turning to face the door.

"Laura!" he says brightly, bring a hand up to insistently pat at her cheek. "The bes' sister in ever!" He gives a big, sloppy grin before turning back to Stiles. "Hey Stiles, did you know that Laura is— woah…" He leans right into Stiles' space, noses touching, and Stiles' eyes go impossibly wide. "Hey," Derek says intensely, "your eyes have a little green in them."

"Ah… no they don't," Stiles says, hitching Derek up on his shoulder, "but okay." He turns to Laura, eyes beseeching. "Uh, a little help? Fragile skinny human here."

Laura snorts, but scoots under Derek's arm and takes most of his weight anyway. "Hey I've seen you with a baseball bat, you're as a vicious as hell."

Stiles grins at that, scent going pleased-warm, and happily lets her takes more of Derek's weight. Together, except mainly Laura, they move Derek to the couch and drop him on it. He groans, rolls over, and mashes his head into the gap between the arm and the cushion.

"How much did he drink?" Laura asks, trying to stop from laughing as Derek groans again and wiggles on the couch, worming his body up and down to try to… she doesn’t even know.

"To be honest I lost track after four," Stiles says sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"So this is my baby bro when he’s drunk." She debates taking a picture for posterity, but he’s stopped moving now and he just looks asleep. "It's not very exciting."

"Yeah, two drinks Derek was super chill and awesome, three drinks Derek was like, highly energised, like would not stop dancing, but four-plus drinks Derek just…" He shivers. "It took me half an hour to get him in my car, I had to promise him a milkshake. Which he then threw up in the back seat."

Laura cringes. "Sorry."

Stiles flaps a hand. "Eh, she’s seen worse."

"I can imagine," Laura says, leading him into the kitchen. "Drink?"

"Uh…" He checks the time on his phone, looks longingly at the coffee maker, then pulls a face. "Water please," he says glumly.

Laura throws him a bottle from the fridge and he skulls half the bottle, pulling a face after and wiping his mouth.

Then there’s silence.

"So," he says awkwardly. "Am I gonna get The Talk like Lydia did?

"No."

"Why not?" he asks, frowning, actually seeming kind of offended.

"Because, idiot, I know exactly what you see in him. My brother is magnificent."

"Yeah," Stiles says fondly, mouth pulling up into a cute little smile as he picks at the label of his bottle. "He kinda is."

"And," she continues, waiting for him to look her in the eye and then holding his gaze, "I know exactly what he sees in you."

Stiles' scent immediately floods with embarrassment. He plays it off by forcing a laugh. "Oh, woah, sorry Laura, but my heart lies with another."

"Stiles, if you think everyone who compliments you wants to fuck you then I need to have a serious word with the Sheriff," she says.

Stiles tilts his head. "You know, I thought hearing you swear would be weird, but actually it just feels more normal."

"You should definitely get used to it," Laura advises him.

-

The next morning, Stiles walks in on Derek in the shower.

Laura is downstairs making breakfast, but she can hear everything that's going on, and she takes her eggs off the burner just so she doesn't miss anything.

"Oh my God!" Stiles yelps, and there's the sound of material dropping, another yelp and some scrambling. "Fuck! Now I’m naked! And so are you, I— shit!"

"Did you not hear that the shower was on?" Derek barks.

"I was too distracted thinking of you in the shower! I mean— shit!"

There's a pause.

"So," Derek says, drawing the word out, "do you maybe wanna let me finish?"

"Oh fuck, yeah, oh my god, I'm so sorry! I'm— shit!"

And then the bathroom door slamming closed, Stiles' heartbeat beating frenetically in his chest, footsteps and the rapid rustle of clothes as Stiles presumably gets changed in Derek’s room, and then Stiles thunders down the stairs. When he appears in the kitchen he's dishevelled, half-dressed, clutching at the waistband of his pants because he hasn't done up his fly, but he's frowning in concentration rather than gaping in shock.

"Good morning?" Laura asks, smirking, but he ignores her, making a beeline for the coffee maker. "Stiles?"

"Huh?" he finally looks at her, letting go of his pants and catching them again immediately, hurriedly doing them up.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she asks, because this is too much even for him. "I know Derek's well-built but I wasn't expecting you to be literally stunned."

"No, I just…" He trails off, then looks up at Laura seriously. "He has a tattoo."

"Yes," she says slowly. "He got it a few months after our parents were killed."

"What is it?" He reaches for the coffee machine, realises he doesn't have a mug, looks around blindly for one. Laura shakes her head and grabs him one from the cupboard. "Thanks," he says, taking it. "I'm just… his tattoo, what is it?"

"It's a triskele. It's our… family crest, I guess you could call it?" She shrugs. "I'd get one too, but I don't have so much of a pain kink."

"What?"

"How do you think people with instant healing get tattoos?" Laura waits until he takes a sip before adding, "By blowtorch."

He gags, spitting coffee back into his cup, letting out a full-body shiver. "Yeuch, thanks for that." He sobers again, frowning. "I'm just… I swear I've seen that symbol before."

"Stiles, it's just a Celtic symbol. It was helpful when we were kids, as something to focus on. It means something to Derek, because he's associated something significant with it. But it's really not that big a deal."

"Yeah," he says. "I guess so."

-

By the time Laura can no longer ignore her rumbling stomach, it's been six hours since she last moved from her chair. She'd locked herself in the study to finally get some paperwork for Allison done, with strict instructions to Derek and Cora to leave her the hell alone, so as she stretches out her back she absently checks for them. Cora's in her room playing Xbox, but Derek's not in his room, he's… downstairs, in the kitchen. Making his dinner, probably, she vaguely heard him come home from the gym about twenty minutes ago.

At the thought of dinner—anyone's dinner—her stomach rumbles again, so she forces herself to get up.

She shuffles downstairs, intent on the kitchen, on food, but then the siren song of the couch is too strong and before she knows it she's collapsed onto it, digging her head into the cushion and wishing for the sweet, sweet release of sleep.

"She lives," Derek calls from the kitchen, but she doesn't answer him. There's the clatter of plates, and then footsteps as Derek comes in and pokes at her foot with the tip of a claw. "Hello? Did you sleepwalk down here?"

Laura squeezes her eyes shut and tries to keep her heartbeat regulated. Maybe he'll go away if he thinks she's in a coma.

But of course, because he's Derek, he doesn't. He sits on her instead, right in the dip her back, scooching back and settling in. "Remember your sleepwalking? You were like ten, and you used to come downstairs and growl at the fridge for like an hour, until mom finally realised where you were. Or finally got bored of filming you."

She still doesn't respond, so he starts to bounce on her, pushing her hips and boobs down into the springs. "Fuck off," she groans, reaching an arm out and waving it around, hoping she'll hit him.

"So, you don't want the dinner I made you, then?"

Laura freezes at the prospect of food, before logic takes over and she uses her knees and feet to arch up, knocking Derek to the floor and glaring down at him. "Food," she says.

He rolls his eyes, but levers himself up and comes back again a few moments later with a bowl loaded with pasta.

It looks like heaven.

He hands it to her quickly, like he can see her preparing to jump him for it, and she digs in immediately.

About halfway through the contents of the bowl, she realises he's still hovering in front her. Considering his nervous energy, lip biting and wringing hands, he's practically mopping at his own forehead and swooning like a ye olde maiden.

"Can I help you?" she asks, through a full mouth.

He grimaces, but ducks down and perches beside her. "I'm…"

"You're…"

He clears his throat. "Do you still think humans are more trouble than they're worth?"

Well. That's not what she was expecting.

She clears her throat and forces herself to put down her bowl on the coffee table. Pasta can be reheated over and over, but Derek will only ever ask for help the once. "This is about Stiles," she says, sure.

He nods.

"Did he do something?"

"Nothing bad," he says quickly. "He's just… it was unexpected. A bit. I think I'm making a big deal out of this. But. It feels like I should?" He glances at Laura, the fastest little peek, just to gauge her reaction, like he's not a supernatural creature that could read her every emotion.

Laura swallows, takes a calming breath. Because if Derek is this troubled, this can only mean one thing. "Stiles asked you to prom?"

Derek ducks his head shyly and nods, and it's probably the cutest thing she's ever seen, oh god. She has to try and stay objective about this. Shit, how is she supposed to be objective about this? Because it doesn't seem like much, just a normal rite of passage. Senior prom, right, cliche and silly when you look back on it years later.

Except for the fact that Talia and Joseph Hale had their first date at their senior prom, and it was the catalyst for them. It was the event that set up Laura's parents' whole lives together, and she, Derek, and Cora have always taken it very seriously. It means a lot to them. Laura had gone to her prom even though she otherwise hated the idea. She'd gone alone, not because no one had asked but because no one had felt special enough to share it with, and she hadn't regretted it for a single second.

But if Derek's thinking about going with Stiles, then…

She probably should have realised this was where everything was heading. Derek doesn't really do casual, not anymore. Derek projects untouchable sour pessimist to the world to cover for his real self, which is soft squishy romantic. And soft squishy romantic Derek would be the first one to fall for someone like Stiles, so she just… really should have known.

Laura takes a deep breath. "Do you want to go to prom?" she asks steadily.

He frowns. "I don't know."

"Do you want to go out again with Stiles?"

"...Yes."

"You like Stiles."

"Yes." Stronger, this time.

"You like Stiles enough to go to prom with him?"

"I… I think… yes. Maybe? Yes?" He looks up at her finally, eyes big and vulnerable, and even though his tone was unsure, his heart was steady.

Which is more than enough of an answer for Laura.

-

Somehow, in all of his very-toned-down-for-appearance's-sake prom excitement, Derek forgot that he doesn't have a suit.

"He didn't ask me in enough time," he says aggravatedly, shoving clothes hangers up and down the rod in his closet so viciously Laura is pretty sure he's gonna break it. "Who asks someone to go to the prom a week before the prom?"

"Would you have said yes if he'd asked you earlier?" Erica asks, pointing out the obvious before Laura can.

She shoots Erica a thumbs up. Erica winks at her.

Derek glares at them both. "Neither of you are helping."

"What are we supposed to do, Derek? I offered to take you shopping but you said no," Isaac comments. He's lolling around on the bed, pretending not to pay attention and leisurely reading one of Derek's comic books, but he hasn't turned the page in ten minutes. Laura's been keeping track.

"I don't trust you," Derek grumbles. "You'll try to make me wear a pocket scarf."

Isaac finally tosses the comic aside and rolls over. "Oh my god Derek, it's pocket square, and no I wouldn't, because I'd like to keep my throat intact." He sniffs. "No matter how much I think it would bring out your eyes."

"What's Stilinski wearing, anyway?" Boyd asks from Derek's desk chair. "Aren't you supposed to match?"

Derek's ears redden immediately, which means there's a prime teasing opportunity in store, and Laura holds her breath waiting for his answer. "He said he didn't care what I was wearing, he just wants to be there with me."

"Ugh," Isaac says, disgusted.

"Huh," Erica says, thoughtful.

"Aww," Laura says, mocking.

"Well that's irresponsible," Boyd says, shaking his head. In a slightly hilarious move that couldn't have worked better if it was choreographed, they all turn to look at him simultaneously. He shrugs. "I just think they should've put more effort into it," he mutters.

Erica saunters over to him and drops onto his lap. "I didn't know you felt so strongly about it, boo."

"I don't," he says quickly. Erica gives him a look, and he deflates. "My sister's been looking forward to her senior prom since she was in junior high. It's all I hear about from Valentine's Day onwards, every year. I've picked up some stuff."

"So, okay," Laura says, directing them to the task at hand because Derek looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel. "You're not going shopping because we'd all like to avoid harbouring in the apocalypse, your old suit you wore to the…" To their parents' funeral, the one they had to have to keep up appearances—closed casket, obviously. She clears her throat. "Your old suit is way too small because you've gone all muscle-wolf since then, and neither Isaac nor Boyd can lend you anything because they're the wrong body type." She turns to Derek, paws at his shoulder playfully. "Why don't you have more friends, Derek?"

"I don't know, why don't you?" Derek snaps.

A million answers run through Laura's head. I did, but I lost touch with all of them because I suddenly had to be an alpha and look after two teenagers. I would, but suddenly becoming and alpha and looking after two teenagers isn't exactly conducive to a social life. I could, but suddenly being an alpha and having to take care of two teenagers means I have to be a lot more discerning, and there aren't actually that many people in Beacon Hills.

She decides to say nothing.

The whole room is silent for a few moments, and as Laura is thinking hard, desperately attempting to problem solve when her eyes alight on the one photo Derek has on display in his room—a frame featuring a grainy picture of their parents on their wedding day. Their mom is wearing red, and their dad is in a suit.

"Dad's suits," she says suddenly. "He said they took up too much room is his closet, and he never wore them anyway, so he put them in the attic, remember, that rickety old Ikea wardrobe thing?" None of them have gotten around to venturing into the attic much yet, not beyond Laura's initial desperate search to see if there was any information about the vault up there, so everything is pretty much as it was when their parents were alive. "We should try one of those."

"Should… Can I?" Derek asks, voice small.

"He'd want you to," Laura says softly, and the matter is settled.

-

Fifteen minutes of frantic searching through the attic later, Laura is triumphant and Derek is standing in the middle of his bedroom wearing one of their dad's old suits. Laura had hoped it would smell like him, that she would be able to get a sense of him from the fabric, of his cologne or his body wash or his shampoo or just him, but it must have been dry cleaned before he stored it away. All she'd got from it was the faintest hint of something familiar.

It's probably for the best.

"It could work," Laura admits, as Derek does an awkward twirl. He doesn't really look like their dad in it, which is also for the best—their dad was taller and leaner. He seemed to prefer looser suits, though, because it fits Derek perfectly around the torso. "It needs to be fitted properly though, dad's limbs were a little longer than yours."

Boyd sighs and raises his hand. "I'll do it," he says, sounding pained.

Derek frowns. "Do what?"

He gestures irritably to Derek's body. "I can tailor your suit."

"Let me guess, you just picked that up, too?" Isaac says.

"Oh, my man's always been good with his hands," Erica says, wiggling her eyebrows.

"But Mr Boyd," Laura gasps, scandalised, raising her hand to her heart. "Your hands look so virginal!"

"Trust me when I tell you they're not," Erica says, grinning.

"A-yo!" Laura sends her an air high five.

Boyd doesn't even react. He just grabs Derek's sleeve and drags him out of the room.

Laura gets it. Not everyone can handle two amazing women at once.

-

Laura is shocked to find Cora still home less than an hour before the prom is due to start, especially since she's been ready for at least two hours.

"Hey," she says, poking her head into Cora's room. "I thought for sure you'd be gone by now, where's Lydia? Do you need me to take you?"

"No, it's fine, she'll be here soon," Cora says distractedly, jabbing at something on her iPhone. "She's just sorting something out with Jackson."

"Jackson? As in her ex Jackson, Jackson the shithead? Why?"

Cora scowls. "I don't know, okay, stop asking me questions."

Lie.

Really big, huge lie.

Laura straightens up and nudges open Cora's door, heading directly for the bed. She sits down and crosses her arms.

Cora squirms.

"Cora," Laura says sharply.

"I didn't know until like an hour ago," she blurts, "I promise."

Truth.

"Know what, Cora." Nothing. "I will hurt you if I have to. Remember the broken nose after the coconut incident? Remember that? Remember how much blood there was? Blood that could ruin makeup and expensive prom dresses and—"

"Alright, okay! Stop threatening me! It's about…" She deflates. "It's about Stiles. I was only joking when I suggested it, I didn't know that Lydia would actually do it!"

"Tell me what Lydia did," Laura demands.

With the instruction from her alpha, Cora has no choice but to obey.

-

She's too late.

Right as she's pulling up to the curb, Derek is bolting out of the school gym doors. She throws open the door, and the full force of his overwhelming sorrow and humiliation is hard to handle, even from ten feet away.

"Derek," she calls.

He jerks his head around, spots her, and freezes briefly. He holds her gaze, just breathing, before he shakes his head and changes direction, power walking over and wrenching open the passenger door, throwing himself into the seat and scrunching down as low and small as possible.

Laura takes a breath, forces herself to remain calm, and climbs back into the car. She buckles up, finds the right gear and pulls out, slowly and surely heading back home.

"Did you know?" Derek asks brokenly, when they're halfway there, and Laura's own heart feels like it's going to explode out of her chest. "Did you know that Stiles was… he was paid to date me?"

Laura keeps her tone gentle. "Cora only just told me."

"Cora? She knew? This was her idea?"

"I promise this wasn't her, she didn't even know until earlier today," Laura reassures him, but they're hollow words.

Derek laughs bitterly. "Great, so none of us knew. So much for having super senses."

And then he doesn't say another thing.

-

Twenty-four hours after prom sees Derek lying listlessly in a broken bathtub.

Cora showered in Laura's bathroom, because he hasn't moved since Laura brought him home last night. He says the bathroom is the only place in the house that doesn't smell like Stiles.

And Laura has no idea what to do with him.

The truth is, Laura has no idea how to deal with someone going through heartbreak. It's never happened to her, and Cora's had crushes, yeah, but so far they've just been incidental. She's tried to be supportive, bringing Derek food and covering him with a blanket before she goes to bed, but he won't talk to her, or Cora, or his friends, so there's only so much anyone can do.

If she gets desperate enough, she's gonna have to do something drastic.

On Sunday morning, Derek doesn't even eat the breakfast she brings him, and Laura finally hits 'desperate enough'.

Not eating is equal to an emergency.

She tasks Cora with Derek-watch, looks up Lydia's address and arrives there with a screech of tyres she refuses to feel embarrassed about. She marches up the drive, jabs her finger into the doorbell and waits, anger and frustration and disappointment vibrating through her. She's a mess, broadcasting emotions and slipping in and out of various parts of the shift, and she's just glad that Lydia's in the know because not sure she'll be able to completely control herself.

Not when one of her pack members is hurting.

Lydia is the one to answer the door. Her face does something when she sees it's Laura, twists into something regretful, before it smooths out again.

"Why the fuck did you do this?" Laura spits, unable to hold back any longer.

Lydia sighs, flipping her hair back over her shoulder. "I suppose you should come in."

"Damn right I should come in!" Laura says, and pushes her way past Lydia. She storms past her, down a long and meticulously decorated hallway, ending up in some kind of fancy sitting room that would be unnerving for its excessive tidiness on any other day. Today, Laura is too angry to be unnerved. She rips her bag off and drops it on a plush armchair, spinning to face Lydia, but Lydia beats her to it.

"It wasn't supposed to work out this way, you know."

"What wasn't? Your Machiavellian plan to have your way with my sister? The plan that involved using my brother,"

Lydia rolls her eyes. "Please. Stiles has liked Derek for months. He's all he's talked about for like, all of senior year. It's been exhausting." She pulls a face, like it's all so distasteful, but while she might have precision control over her body, able to cover any emotion with a single sneer, her control over her chemosignals is zilch. Right now she's leaking emotion like sieve.

"Oh right, so we're just living a rom com, this is the miscommunication part of the script, and Stiles isn't really an asshole?"

"Oh no, Stiles is definitely an asshole." Lydia sighs. "He was supposed to tell Derek what was going on, and the only person who was supposed to get hurt was you."

Laura blinks. Surprisingly, that actually makes her feel much better. "Go on."

"Must I?" Lydia says, in a way that would be whining for anyone else. Laura glares at her. "Fine, okay. Stiles likes Derek, has done for a while, but he also knows that Scott hates Derek. I don't know if you know this, but Stiles is a really loyal person, especially to Scott. Which is why he never said anything. This whole," she gestures around for the word, eventually landing on, "scheme was supposed to give him an excuse to date Derek, so he didn't feel like he was betraying Scott. It was supposed to help everyone get what they wanted, there weren't supposed to be any crossed—"

"Swords?"

Lydia glares at her. "Wires. It was supposed to end happily ever after for everyone, but Stiles is the one who chickened out. So really you should be over at his place, giving him the evil alpha glare, not me."

"Oh," Laura says. She drops down into the armchair, which is one percent uncomfortable and obviously just exists for the aesthetic, and takes some time to process everything. "It was actually a pretty good plan, all things considered," she offers, after a few moments.

"I know," Lydia says coolly, settling into the sofa opposite her. "It's too bad boys are so stupid."

-

When Laura gets home it's to find Cora and Derek actually talking, probably for the first time ever, and for a moment she's convinced she's in the wrong house.

They obviously hear her come in, but neither of them pause their conversation so she unashamedly listens in, kicking off her shoes and dropping her keys on the hall table.

"...seriously, Derek, I know you don't trust him," Cora is saying, "but I promise you, Stiles really, really likes you."

"I don't know that I even trust you," he says. "Why would I fall for his shit again?"

"Because it's not shit. Chemosignals don't lie, Derek, and all I know is that every time he saw you, or even spoke about you, his eyes would practically morph into love hearts and he stank like love."

"Not…" Derek pauses. He sounds like he's leaning back in his bed, and Laura imagines him trying to act all nonchalant. "Not lust?"

Cora makes a disgusted sound. "Ugh, there's that too, believe me, but the important thing is he loves you. And you love him."

"I don't," Derek says quickly, but his heart skips so loudly on the lie a human could probably hear it.

"Pathetic, bro," she says.

"You know what else is pathetic, listening in to other people's conversations from a whole floor away, get your ass up here."

Laura rolls her eyes and sprints up the stairs, moving to lean against Derek's doorway. "You shouldn't say 'ass' to me," she says half-heartedly, but they both ignore her.

"You went to see Lydia, but you don't smell like blood," she says, surprised, nose twitching.

"I wanted to rip off her head," Laura admits. "But I decided to be a great and benevolent alpha and hear her out first."

Derek studies her carefully. "And?"

She shrugs. "She said that same thing as Cora."

He scowls. "I have even less reason to believe her."

"True. But believe me, then." She pins him with her best fierce stare, lets her eyes bleed red, watches as his flood with yellow in return. "That kid has made some terrible choices. Everyone can see that. But he loves you. Like, real love here, bro, I've seen it, I've smelled it, it's legit. So now it's up to you. You have all the facts, you have to decide what to do with them, and I'll support you, whatever you decide."

Derek stares at her. He swallows, nods his head jerkily.

"We got your back, bro," Cora says softly, poking him in the cheek, but before she can react his grabbing her around the waist, hauling her into a hug.

She squeals and resists at first, but relaxes into it after a few seconds, and Laura laughs.

And then she nearly cries when Derek extends an arm out and waggles it at her, and she leaps across the room, jumps on top Cora, and rolls herself all over them.

-

Laura gets the call when she's at home, doing the ironing of all things.

It's Derek, and she's grinning when she answers. "Hey bro, made out with Stiles ye—"

"You should come to the school."

"What? What did you do? What did Cora do? Oh god, I hate that I have to ask about both of you now!" She jabs the iron off at the powerpoint and rushes to put on her shoes.

"It's not…" He hesitates, starts again with more certainty. "It's nothing bad, I promise. It's… just come."

And then he hangs up.

"I'm gonna kill the next person who calls me in a panic," she mutters to herself, slamming the front door behind her.

-

Since Derek never told Laura where to go, she follows her nose. She ends up in some part of the school she'd never usually be allowed, that no-one should ever be allowed in probably, and finally turns one last corner to see Derek, Cora and Stiles standing at the end of a corridor.

"Derek, what the hell," she hisses, approaching them. "You could've at least—"

And then she stops short, because they all just stepped aside and there, etched into the wall, is a giant triskele.

The vault.

"Oh my god, you found it," she breathes, stepping closer, running her fingers over the wall. It feels tingly, just like the Nemeton on the full moon, and Laura presses against it harder.

"Stiles found it," Derek says.

"I told you I'd seen that symbol before," Stiles says.

"We think we're the only ones who can open it," Cora says, gesturing to a mechanism in the door that kind of looks like only claws would fit in. "But we thought you should be the one to do the honours."

"Yeah, I…" Laura takes a breath, unsheathes her claws. "Sure. Thanks, that's…"

This is the vault. Inside this vault is her family history, records of customs, important artifacts, valuable heirlooms, things that she's longed to have access to for years. This is parents, her family, her pack.

Derek steps up beside her. "Come on," he says.

And Laura opens the door.

-

Laura threatens to kick Stiles out of the vault three times in half an hour.

So far he's tripped on an antique chair, knocked over a pile of important paperwork, and broken something that Laura hadn't even had time to figure out the use of yet. Laura had no choice but to put him in time out, in the corner next to a wall of disgusting specimens in jars. He's talking to them now, but even though it's annoying at least it means he's not causing damage anywhere else.

"You look like a Paul," he says to one of the jars, staring at it with twisted fascination. "And your little dude next to you is definitely George. And big blue dude, I dub thee... Roscoe."

Derek sidles up next to him. "You can't name everything Roscoe."

Stiles smirks. "I can try." Then his expression smoothes out, and he raises a tentative hand to Derek's shoulder. "Hey, if I'm really annoying you then I can go," he says softly.

"It's just… it's a lot," Derek admits. But then he twists around, takes Stiles' other hand, and squeezes it. "Stay, though," he says, intense and sincere, eyes glittering. "I don't ever want you to go."

Stiles smiles softly, linking their fingers together. "No problem."

Laura looks at Cora.

Cora looks at Laura.

They both roll their eyes.